


Da Mihi Basilia Mille

by brevitas



Series: Leader of the Muses [13]
Category: Les Misérables - All Media Types
Genre: Greek Gods AU, M/M, Modern AU
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2013-03-26
Updated: 2013-03-26
Packaged: 2017-12-06 13:25:00
Rating: Not Rated
Warnings: Creator Chose Not To Use Archive Warnings, No Archive Warnings Apply
Chapters: 1
Words: 2,177
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/736185
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/brevitas/pseuds/brevitas
Summary: <blockquote class="userstuff">
              <p>Grantaire tells Enjolras they should wait and both deal with it in different ways.</p>
<p>Or in which Grantaire wants desperately to sleep with his Apollo but attempts to control himself.</p>
            </blockquote>





	Da Mihi Basilia Mille

Their dinner is such a casual affair that Enjolras' nervousness bleeds away--he remembers how much he loves Grantaire when he's like this, laughing so deeply that his cheeks flush and he tosses his head back. He hasn't been sober for so long that it's almost like being around a complete stranger (one that makes his stomach tighten and his mouth dry up, but an alluring stranger all the same).

The food is excellent and Grantaire praises him through each dish, groaning when he takes the initial bites. Each tme he says loudly and without fail, "I didn't know how much I loved this," and looks joyous at discovering something new.

Enjolras feels fairly bad about the charade and fesses up that he didn't make it halfway through, and Grantaire gets a huge kick out of the admission. "I didn't think so," he admits once he recovers from his laughter. "You don't strike me as a very good cook."

Whether that's something he's remembered or learned neither like to think about, and it makes Enjolras smile either way.

When they finish Enjolras suggests a movie in their home theater, and gestures for Grantaire to follow him. They're both full from their meal and in high spirits from the other's company so when Grantaire takes Enjolras' hand he should have had a better reaction. But he feels good, nearly drunk on the beef roast and the smiles and the memories, and Grantaire looks happy and Enjolras kisses him without thinking.

Grantaire responds immediately; he releases his hand and fists it at Enjolras' waistband instead, jerks him closer, inhales the startled groan Enjolras produces when their hips impact. He backs Enjolras to the wall and pins him, uses his free hand to greedily rip the top few buttons off of Enjolras' shirt. They ping when they bounce against the tile floor, and neither one notices.

It's messy and suspiciously devoid of alcohol but Enjolras doesn't care--when Grantaire adjusts his arm and heaves under Enjolras' ass to lift him up a few more inches the blonde happily complies, wraps his legs around Grantaire's waist to help support himself. Grantaire breaks off the kiss and slides his mouth down Enjolras' throat, nibbles at the tender skin stretched taut over his collarbone.

"I still don't remember," he whispers against his neck, like a man kneeling in the dark of a confessional. Goosebumps shiver down Enjolras' spine and he gasps; Grantaire uses his teeth to punctuate his sentence when he breathes, "But I love you."

And somehow both testimonies are honest, because at that moment Grantaire understands that he doesn't need to _know_ Enjolras to love him--he will always love him, in every form, in the deepest part of hismelf that the sun reaches for but never touches and usually the alcohol drowns. He would not be surprised to learn that the first time he came to Olympus and Enjolras strolled around the corner he fell deeply and madly in love with him, for Enjolras is a tidal wave, and Grantaire is but the buildings he crushes.

Enjolras says breathlessly, "I love you too," and Grantaire sucks a bruise onto his clavicle like a brand, teases it with his teeth before shuddering a sigh. He stops and purses his mouth, pitches his head forward so his forehead bumps the blonde's jaw.

"We shouldn't do this," he says quietly, and Enjolras stills. He tries to calm his rapid breathing and attempts to sound halcyon when he asks, "Why not?"

Grantaire laughs against his neck because he doesn't need to remember everything to know that Enjolras isn't usually like this. He's a little proud about how successfully he's undone him, but that doesn't change his stance. "I don't think it's fair to you," he says, and Enjolras makes a noise similar to a wounded dog. Grantaire forges on. "Isn't this our first?"

Enjolras sighs, and reclutantly nods. "I can hypothetically concede to your point, Grantaire."

The language is hilariously formal for a situation such as this and Grantaire can't help his laugh (Enjolras looks down at him and fights a smile). "Good," he says, tips his head back so he can see him. In retrospect he should have been more careful; this close Enjolras' eyes are entrancing.

Grantaire licks his lips and Enjolras follows the motion, hitches his hips up a few inches against Grantaire's stomach and is rewarded by his sharp inhale. "We should definitely wait," he says innocently, and Grantaire groans.

"You," he says, "Are much too pretty for your own good."

He kisses Enjolras again before he can rebuff it, nibbles his bottom lip prior to breaking it off with a lewd pop. Apollo's mouth is swollen and slightly parted and Grantaire takes a determinedly steady breath, nods as though to reaffirm himself. "Okay," he says slowly. "We're gonna wait, and that way whenever I end up jumping you I'll know what I'm getting into."

Enjolras laughs again and he's breathless; he puts one hand on Grantaire's shoulder to steady himself and grins. "Alright, alright," he yields. "Let me down and we'll continue this date as per scheduled."

Grantaire is reluctant to do so but eventually bends down and releases Enjolras, who lands nimbly on his toes. He rocks back on his heels and claps Grantaire on the shoulder, is almost playful when he slides out from underneath him and says lightly, "Pretty soon you'll remember what you're missing." Grantaire is startled into laughter and trails after him, pocketing his hands and trying to ignore how ridiculously good Enjolras' ass looks in the jeans he's wearing.

The rest of the date goes as planned; they end up watching The Breakfast Club and Grantaire likes it, which surprises Enjolras (though he makes no comment on how the old Grantaire hated it and called it cliched and abnormally boring). Enjolras walks Grantaire to his room afterward and is allowed a swift kiss on the cheek before the painter disappears behind his closed door with a soft laugh. Enjolras lays in bed smiling, and falls asleep happier than he has been for a long time.

+++++

"Hey." Jehan jumps at the intrusion, nearly drops the glass vase he's holding. He spins to face his doorway, where Grantaire is effortlessly lounging. It's seven in the morning and Jehan has never seen him up this early without him still being awake from the night before. "So, we're friends, right?"

"Um, yes." Jehan tilts his head at him, carefully sets the vase on a nearby table. He's wearing a sweater today that's sky blue and sporting a giant graphic of an orange tabby cat across the chest.

"Good." Grantaire plops down in a chair and stretches his legs out. "Because I need advice."

Jehan blinks (advice was a part of their relationship, sure, but it was subtly given and even more subtly receieved) but crosses the room anyway and takes a seat next to him. "About what?"

Grantaire pushes his hair out of his eyes and flicks his gaze down at his boots. "Enjolras."

Patiently Jehan nods. "Okay. What's wrong?"

"I want to sleep with him."

"Ah." Jehan clasps his hands togehter in his lap. "Well, that's not particularly _new_ \--"

"Sure, but I don't _remember_ that. I mean, I don't see why anybody _wouldn't_ want to sleep with him, the man is fucking _fine_ , but apart from having two eyes and knowing in this weird deja vu sort of way that I love him I really don't know why it's so hard to control myself."

Jehan nods sagely, and points out, "You slept around a lot in the early days," which earns a disbelieving snort from Grantaire that turns into a frown when Jehan merely looks at him. "Your sex drive could originate from that, I suppose."

Grantaire groans and lolls in his chair. "Okay, whatever--I don't care where it came from, I just need to know how to ignore it. I want to fall in love with Enjolras myself, not coast on the feelings he has for me that I don't remember."

Jehan attempts to stifle his pride in Grantaire, because if this had been before Lethe then he probably would have come here boasting of his conquet of Enjolras and not his attempt to keep his hands to himself. Jehan spares a moment to pray to their father that Grantaire will never be tempted by alcohol again because this is when everybody really loves him, sober and quirky and quick to laugh.

"Try looking at him like you've never seen him before." Grantaire cocks his head and flattens his mouth. "You're making new memories with him now, yes? So try to distance yourself from what you felt before and think about how he makes you feel now."

For a moment Grantaire is quiet, thinking over Jehan's advice but eventually he stands and shakes his head. "You're a pretty good friend," he says, tousles Jehan's hair on his way out. "Thanks."

Giddy, Jehan smiles after him and flattens his hair--it's the same way Grantaire would say farewell months earlier, and Jehan is happy to know that he does it even now.

+++++

Grantaire is exploring the seemingly endless Olympus house later that morning, coffee in hand, when he finds a gym. It looks like it hasn't been used for a while and as far as he can tell is quite a distance from the halls that the gods spend most of their time in so he wanders amongst the equipment alone and sips his coffee as he walks.

He's curious when he finds a whiskey bottle sitting beside a treadmill and further in a full flask underneath a swinging punching bag that smells suspiciously of vodka. He uncovers a locker full of clothes, _his_ clothes, and a pile near the door of dirty laundry. Grantaire is struck by how little he knows himself, and realizes belatedly that he came here to work out (and apparently to drink).

When he reaches for a roll of white tape he wraps his hands without thinking about it, squeezes his knuckles until they're comfortable and abandons his coffee by the wall. He slides into a pose on the balls of his feet and starts beating on the bag, landing blow after blow that has the steel hook rattling at the top.

He loses track of time in there and is soaked with sweat when Enjolras finally finds him a few hours later, looking in on a whim. He watches from the doorway for a while, admires how Grantaire moves; he always appears sluggish but when he's like this, focused entirely on the dull rhythm of his fists striking leather, he's captivating. He moves fluently and without doubt, trusting his body entirely, feinting to one foot and whacking the bag with his left hand. If it was a person he was facing, they would be outmatched--had it been a human, they would have been destroyed.

He clears his throat and Grantaire starts, whirling around to see him. He's panting and drenched, and shed his shirt a while ago so rivulets of sweat are carving patterns across his bronzed skin. "You haven't come here for a long time," he remarks as he steps inside, trying to distract himself from the heaving of Grantaire's chest (was he ever like this before? Christ, he feels like a horny preteen who can't keep his hands off his prom date).

He toes the whiskey, nearly tipping it over, and looks up at Grantaire, who's watching him with disturbingly intent eyes. "I came to invite you out on a second date," he says, and Grantaire nods, licks his parched mouth. Enjolras coughs and looks to the side. "I can get you at eight?"

"Sure." Grantaire is thirsty, and Enjolras is making his pulse race and it's jumping like a rabbit under his jaw, like he could swallow it back and close it in his throat. He walks towards Enjolras and he doesn't mean to but he's prowling, so engrossed in Apollo that he moves with an elegance his drunken self extinguishes. "Eight sounds good."

He circles Enjolras a few times out of nervous tension, hands held loosely at his sides, the fingers occassionally jumping while he paces. Enjolras watches him out of the corner of his eye and strives to not feel like a cornered deer.

"Alright," Grantaire says suddenly, and it seems to startle both of them. He wets his mouth. "Eight it is."

Enjolras nods and retreats to the door. "I'm glad you're using this place again," he says when he lingers. "Bahorel has his own, you know, and nobody comes here anymore."

Grantaire nods, balancing the majority of his weight on his toes. He looks like he's about to surge forward, like a bull elephant with violence in his blood; Enjolras steps out into the hallway and calls from the veritable safety, "I'll see you at eight!"

Shit, he thinks to himself as he returns to his room. If this is day one he doesn't know how many more he can endure.

**Author's Note:**

> so uh not a lot happened this chapter either, by golly I'm just giving you people a lot of boring chapters? I dunno, guys, sometimes I just like writing these two without really some great climax in the chapter, sorry
> 
> title means "give to me a thousand kisses"--kinda self-explanatory why I picked this one (and also because we had to translate this Catullus poem for Latin last week and I kinda love his shit so yeah, this happened)
> 
> tumblr is idfaciendumest and kisses to everybody!!
> 
> p.s. wow not a lot of notes this time around? gosh it'll get exciting soon I swear


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